Goodnight
by MagicInHerMadness
Summary: Collection of one shots. Olitz on the trail. Very fluffy. Maybe a little spice to be added later on
1. The First Goodnight

**A/N: This just occurred to me when I was browsing the Olitz tag on tumblr. I love their every day non-sexual chemistry so I decided to write this one shot. Enjoy and review please (:**

"Hey Olivia, I saved you a seat," Fitz called. Olivia almost turned on her heel and left the dining room when she was glanced around and saw that the only seat was next to Fitz. But he caught her eye and smiled and she was trapped. She chatted with one of the interns, trying to wait someone out and get a seat that wasn't so close to him. A few minutes passed and no one left. She found him still smiling at her, so she reluctantly went to sit with him. He stood and pulled her chair out, grinning innocently, asked how she was.

"Fine, thank you," she answered in a voice that didn't sound like her own.

"No problem," he replied. He sat next to her, his arm casually draped over the back of her chair. Luckily for her, the interns were pumping him for stories from his governor campaign trail so she didn't have to talk to him. The sandwiches came out soon after she sat down. Fitz got turkey and cheddar. Olivia got ham and American. Since she didn't like ham, she didn't touch the sandwich, instead sipping her diet Coke and talking to Cyrus. She made a point of not looking at Fitz or talking to him, or listening to the story that had the interns busting a gut. Every now and then his fingers would flutter, brushing against her shoulder. Each time it happened, her stomach turned a flip. She knew it was a mistake to sit next to him and now she couldn't move. Truthfully, she didn't really want to move—but the coupling of his scent and his warm fingertips brushing against her was proving to be more of a trial than she had originally imagined.

"Do you not want your sandwich?" Olivia turned away from Cyrus and looked at him, avoiding his blue eyes, then at the untouched sandwich.

"I don't like ham, Governor," she answered. She was perhaps the only person on the campaign who didn't call him Fitz. It seemed too intimate, like calling him by his first name would let everyone know about the tsunami he caused in her stomach each time he said her name. He smiled as he switched their plates, then picked up the ham sandwich and bit it.

"Luckily, I do." Olivia tried to remember a time when she had seen him smile so much. She also tried to stop herself from grinning as she looked at him, chewing her sandwich. She sipped her Diet Coke, wondering why he was still looking at her. No one else seemed to notice his eyes fixed on her. After he swallowed, he nodded at her silver can, and said, "You know that stiff's really bad for you, right?"

"I have an addiction, sir," she replied. He laughed, his head falling back. He had an easy laugh, like a child. She found herself laughing too, mostly because she loved the sound of his laughter. Luckily Cyrus started talking to her so she could turn away from those eyes. Fitz started another story for the interns, happily eating her sandwich. His fingertip flutters became more frequent, so much so that Olivia shot him a look. He subtly slipped his arm off the back of her chair, smirking as he shifted in his seat and placed his forearms on the table. They were tan and muscular, covered in a thin layer of dark brown hair. Olivia imagined the strength contained in those sinewy arms and felt her face go hot. She made a mental note to never sit so close to him ever again. Cyrus began his all-too familiar reel of "war" stories from his days as a law professor at Columbia University, most of which included his star pupil Olivia. She got so engrossed in Cyrus's tale that she didn't notice Fitz's right arm leave the table until his hand found her denim-covered inner thigh, his fingertips slipping between her leg and the chair, his thumb a few inches from her knee cap. She didn't dare look at him.

He appeared to be looking at Cyrus, but because she was between them, he was using the opportunity to study her face. Her eyelashes were long and thick, curling back nearly to the lid. Her eyes were the size of saucers, the color of coffee, with golden flecks that came alive when she smiled. They darkened like storm clouds when she was thinking. He wondered what happened to them when she reached her peak and died a thousand beautiful little deaths, if they were squeezed shut or rolling back. Her snub nose sloped just so and he wanted to pepper it with feather soft kisses. She had high cheekbones, the apples always sporting a healthy glow. Her mouth was perfect, her lips pouty and full, her Cupid's bow exquisite, her tongue a delicious shade of pink. He imagined her biting her bottom lip when she was aroused, or when she was holding back a moan. He wondered if she screamed or groaned or exhaled breathy pants that crescendo-ed at a frenzied pace when she was nearing her end. He wondered if she said dirty things when she was turned on. She had such a way with words, such an elegant voice, such a pretty mouth. He wanted to hear every filthy thought she'd ever had roll off that succulent tongue.

When he realized that his face was probably beet red, he tried to think of anything to replace his previous thoughts. He swallowed hard, tried extra hard to pay attention to Cyrus's story. Whatever it was about had Olivia practically in stitches, her head back and her mouth open as she laughed. He had never seen her so beautiful. He wanted to kiss her so badly that he had to stuff the last piece of her sandwich in his mouth to stop himself. It wasn't enough. He wanted to bite her bottom lip, run his tongue over it, lick the sickly sweet Diet Coke taste off her tongue.

"Are you gonna eat these?" he asked, already helping himself to the fries on her plate.

She smirked at him. "I suppose not."

He gave her a lazy half-smile, wondering if she had any idea what he'd just been thinking about her. He helped himself to the ketchup bottle between her and Cyrus. She wasn't sure if he was so comfortable with everyone or if this relaxed Fitz was because of her. Then she remembered his hand on her thigh, making small circles with his index finger.

* * *

"Hold the elevator!" Olivia hurried, the heels of her pink patent leather Kate Spade pumps clicking as she trotted to the elevator. She regretted her haste instantly when she found Fitz alone, one hand casually in his pocket, the other preventing the doors from closing. He smiled when she stepped into the elevator, pulling her large suitcase along with her. She stood with an appropriate amount of space between them, a knot forming in her stomach when the metal doors closed with a thud.

"What floor?" he asked politely.

"Tenth," she croaked, unaware of why her words were abandoning her.

"Me too," he replied, smiling. "Lucky."

Olivia thought it was anything but as the elevator began to move. He stepped back, leaned against the wall, and she tried to subtly look him over. She was 5'4, 5'8 in most of her heels (including the ones she was wearing) and he still towered over her. She guessed he was at least a foot taller than her. He wasn't rail thin like a lot of men his height though. He was solid, muscular, sturdy, the kind of man who could wrap you in his arms and make every fear disappear. He had removed his tie and undone the first three buttons of his crisp white shirt, revealing a few wisps of dark chest hair. She had to look away when she found herself imagining him shirtless, then pantsless, then gloriously naked. She was sure her heart was hammering against her ribcage loud enough for him to hear. She had never considered herself one for sordid fantasies, but there she was, ogling him like a horny schoolgirl.

He glanced over at her quickly. She looked away. He could actually look down at the top of her head. Mellie was 5'10; Olivia was nowhere near it. She as petite, 5'5 he guessed, with doll-like hand and feet and a delicate little body that he wanted to kiss all over. She was tiny compared to him—Mellie too—but shapely. He had caught himself staring at her heart-shaped bottom multiple times, each leer accompanied by the urge to grab it and feel the weight in his hands. His face reddened at the thought and he cleared his throat quietly, trying desperately to think of anything other than bending her over. Olivia glanced at him, wondering what he had been thinking about that had turned the tops of his ears so red. She glanced at the digital floor display. They were on the fifth floor. It was undoubtedly the longest elevator ride of her life.

She was acutely aware of him shuffling closer to him, his movements slight and careful like he was afraid moving too fast would break the spell of the comfortable silence they were experiencing. By the seventh floor, he was close enough to touch her. He turned, leaning his left shoulder against the wall, and reached out with his right hand to trace the shell of her ear. His index finger trailed down to the curve of her jaw. He traced her lips and her breath caught. The elevator dinged as it finally came to a stop on the tenth floor. He quickly moved away from her, and with good reason. Cyrus was just getting off his own elevator.

If he noticed anything amiss with the two of them, he didn't let on, instead launching into an account of the next day's activities. They would make one stop then spend the rest of the day on the campaign bus headed to Chattanooga. He bid them goodnight then walked ahead to his room, leaving them searching for their rooms. There was an almost tangible electricity between them as they walked down the hall, not closing the space Cyrus had left between them. Her room was 1012; his was 1011. They were across the hall from each other, a fact of which they were both acutely aware.

He smiled like a teenage boy as he leaned against the wall next to her door, once again fixing her with those eyes. She stood in front of him, their eyes meeting in the shyest way. He had never been close enough to breathe in her scent. She smelled like soap and something sweet, something sugary. She reached out and traced the shell of his ear then the slightly stubbly curve of his jaw. He smelled like light cologne and something manly, something musky that was all him. It was the kind of smell that ingrained itself in your memory and left you wanting more of it with every little whiff. She traced his lips the same way he had done hers.

"Goodnight," she whispered, pulling her hand away from his face.

"Goodnight," he replied, slowly—reluctantly—moving toward his door. She tried to swipe her keycard three times before he realized that she was having trouble. Her hands were shaking so violently that she dropped the card twice. He walked over and wordlessly unlocked her door. She couldn't look at him, not when her legs were threatening to abandon her. She slipped into her room, pulling her suitcase behind her, then shut the door. Inside, she leaned against the cool wood, willing her heart to stop hammering. Outside, he did the same.


	2. Vermont? Vermont

**A/N: I wasn't going to continue this but you guys were so nice in the reviews that I felt like I should. This is a one shot of Olitz talking about Vermont because I don't feel like the writers talk about it enough. Anyone, read and review please! XOXO**

Olivia was almost asleep when her phone began ringing beneath her pillow. She squinted at the blinding screen, becoming instantly awake when she read the number. She put the phone down and sighed. She couldn't talk to him, couldn't bear the sound of his voice, couldn't cope with the weight of another stolen moment. Within minutes, the phone buzzed again. First ring. He was married. He was the leader of the free world. Second ring. He was someone else's. Third ring. He was not hers. Fourth ring. That was what hurt the most. Fifth ring. She couldn't call him hers in the light of day. He only belonged to her in the dark. Sixth ring. He wasn't going to give up. She clicked the ANSWER icon.

"Hello," she yawned.

"Hi," Fitz replied. It was one syllable, barely a word at all, but he made it hold so many beautiful promises. She could picture his face, a small smile curling his lips, his eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea.

"Hi," she breathed, all her insecurities falling away. There was something about the way he talked to her that made everything okay. His voice slipped inside her, seeking out all the cracks in her heart and filling them instantly.

"You were asleep." She could picture his smirking, his eyebrows raised, his expression smug. "It's only 9:30. You're getting old, kid."

"I'm exhausted, she replied, grinning. "Some of us are trying to win a presidential election,"

"It'd be okay if I lost," he said after a moment. Olivia bolted upright in bed and clumsily reached for the bedside lamp. He wasn't joking.

"What?" She rubbed her left temple, thinking that he had finally snapped.

"It'd be okay if I lost," he repeated. "I could divorce Mellie, and marry you, and we could move to Vermont."

"Vermont?" She had to laugh. They had visited Vermont a few weeks earlier. It was the cleanest, quietest little state, a macrocosm of Small Town, USA.

"Yeah." Ha laughed softly. He could hear Mellie snoring softly from the adjoining bedroom. He could also hear the television coming from Cyrus's room, so he wasn't sure what could be heard from his room. "You get all four seasons. The government is strong. The schools are great. I could run for mayor. And you could make jam."

"Jam?" She laughed. She couldn't picture herself making jam. The idea of her cooking was absolutely ludicrous.

"Yes, jam," he replied, grinning in the darkness. "And cookies, and cupcakes, and Sunday dinners, and Easter eggs, and Halloween costumes, and Christmas cards, and school lunches…"

"I'm guessing from all that that there will be babies."

He laughed. "Yes. Babies. Six babies if we can manage."

She almost choked. "We can't, Fitz."

"We can."

"Three."

"Five."

"Four."

"Deal."

"And dogs."

"One dog."

"Two."

"Fine, Fitz."

"And maybe some ducks. I want our house to have a lake."

"Two ducks and a manmade pond. Take it or leave it."

"It's a deal, baby."

Olivia lay back on her pillow, staring up at the ceiling, the silliest grin on her face. She could see it all. Four kids, two boys with his curls, two girls with his eyes. Two dogs, a big one for him and a little one for her. Two ducks, paddling around a little pond in the backyard. Lacrosse games and tennis matches. Saturdays, peewee games, loading up the SUV. Fitz with a little gray at his temples, going for runs in the morning while she made school lunches. She had never considered herself one for domesticity, but for him she'd make jam every day.

She said it before her brain registered that it was coming out of her mouth. "I love you."

"I love you too." He didn't hesitate. It was the first time they had both said it. They were both quiet for a while. He finally said, "So what are you wearing?"

Olivia laughed until tears streamed down her cheeks, rolling onto her side.

He sighed and said, "God I love you, Liv." What he meant was, _I'm sorry I was a coward and married her and didn't wait for you._

She replied, "It's okay." She meant, _It'll be alright. Just wait and see. Who you are is not where you've been. You're still an innocent._

They were both quiet again, so many words hanging between them. Sometimes Olivia felt crazy for having fallen in love with someone else's husband—the President of the United States, no less. But other times, times like these, she knew it was out of her hands. In a thousand other times and places, any universe, any reality, she'd have found him and he'd have found her, and they would have fallen for each other no matter what. She slipped out of bed and went to the floor to ceiling windows that made up the east wall of her bedroom. She pulled back the curtain and looked up at the night sky. The moon was so bright, so full, so blue—almost the same color as his eyes. She pressed her forehead to the glass. It was said that airports saw more sincere kisses than wedding halls and hospital walls heard more prayers than churches. Olivia decided to add that full moons heard more wishes than any fountain or falling stars or birthday candles to the adage.

His voice was soft, wistful. "Are you looking at the moon too?"

"How did you know?" she gasped.

"I was just hoping you were looking at it and wishing as hard as I was that we were together right now," he replied. He heard her inhale sharply and knew that she was crying. He would have given up everything to hold her right then. Instead, he just whispered _sweet baby_ over and over until her sobs subsided.

"Goodnight," she finally whispered.

"Goodnight," he whispered back.


	3. A Rendezvous in Small Town, USA

**A/N: So this is my idea about the origin of Vermont since we were never actually given one. It occurred to me while I was working on another chapter for Three of A Kind. I really appreciate the reviews (: Y'all are seriously the best. Please enjoy and review! XOXO**

Olivia hadn't expected Vermont to be so chilly. She shivered as she checked the weather on her phone. 50 degrees and sunny. It wouldn't have been terrible if the wind wasn't so icy cold and cutting through her white campaign t-shirt. She regretted not grabbing a jacket before the campaign bus left to deliver their luggage to the hotel to wait for them. She rubbed her bare arms. Fitz appeared next to her, holding a wine-colored bundle.

"I knew you'd be cold," he said as she took the bundle from him, unfolding it. She gasped when she realized what it was. She'd seen him in the sweater dozens of times on bus rides. Everyone would know she was wearing his sweater.

She shook her head. "I'd rather freeze, Governor."

"Just put it on," he commanded. He looked down at her with a grin. "Or I could hold you."

It took her a minute to process what he'd said. She slowly looked up at him, then around to him to make sure no one else had heard. He just smiled serenely. She laughed as she shook her head. "You're insane."

"Just put it on," he repeated. She looked at him for a long moment before pulling the v-neck sweater on. It was huge, almost down to her knees. She had to roll the sleeves three times free her hands. She smirked at Fitz as he looked at her with a goofy grin. "You look really cute, Livvie."

Every time he said her name, something inside her broke. She looked away from him, desperately building emotional walls as the scent of him overcame her. Her eyes widened when she realized he wasn't close enough to smell. The scent—cologne and soap—was coming off the sweater. She looked at him. He was in a white t-shirt. He had been wearing the sweater. She whispered, "Fitz I can't…"

"Don't argue with me. Just wear it, Olivia." Olivia smirked. He only called her Olivia when he was being serious. Before she could tease him about it, Cyrus rushed over to make sure Fitz remembered the key points he needed to address. They both fell in step with Cyrus as he hurried to the steps leading to the stage.

"Anything else?" Fitz asked, looking from Cyrus to Olivia as the organizer of the rally began his introduction speech.

"Be friendly," Olivia said, her tone all business, her eyes anything but. "This is Small Town, USA. You're just a well-informed friend telling them how you'd fix America if given the chance. You're not rich Governor Grant from Hollywood coming to talk down to middle-class America. You're a guy who works every day just like them. You want what they want. You're their best friend. But don't joke. You're not funny."

Mellie was already waiting by the stage, grinning like the snow queen in her gray sweater and black slacks. She glanced at them but went back to typing away on her phone. Fitz smirked at Olivia. "I'm funny."

Olivia smirked back. "You're funny in the way that everyone is funny some times. It's a flash in the pan. You're funny but you're not _funny_."

"And you're funny?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

"I'm funnier than you." He laughed. The announcer shouted his name and the crowd erupted. He looked at Olivia. She asked, "Ready?"

"Let's go get 'em," he replied. He held out his fist. She smirked at him as she bumped it with her own. He took the stage, smiling and waving, swaggering like he _was_ the President. Olivia listened to him, hanging onto every word. He was charming. He was intelligent. He was confident. He even managed to be funny multiple times, glancing at her as raucous laughter followed each joke. She briefly though back to what he'd said before going onstage. _Let's go get 'em._ He'd said "let's" like they were a team. She tried no to read too much into it but it was hard when words were all they had.

* * *

"Emu." Olivia snapped out of her daze and blinked at Fitz.

"What?" He pointed at her crossword puzzle.

"Number fifteen down. Three letters. Exotic bird. Emu," he replied.

She smirked at his smug smile as she filled in the answer. She'd been wracking her brain for nearly twenty minutes trying to figure it out. "One for the Ivy League."

"Oh please. You went to Columbia," he shot back. He scooted his folding chair closer to hers at the long banquet-style lunch table. He draped his arm over the back of her chair, leaning close to read the rest of the questions. He squinted at the small print for a long time before sighing and retrieving his reading glasses from his pocket. He slipped them onto his face and she smirked at him.

"I didn't know you had reading glasses," she said.

"There's a lot you don't know about me yet," he replied, nudging her. "Seventeen across. Five letters. Garish red…"

"Rouge," Olivia replied, filling it in.

"I was thinking coral."

"Coral is more in the orange family. Maybe a little pink. Rarely red."

"One for Columbia."

She smirked. "Actually it's probably more Princeton. I only went to Columbia for law school."

"Princeton _and_ Columbia? And you have the nerve to make snide comments about the Ivy League."

She laughed. "Ivy League is one thing. Harvard and Yale is another. It's like silver and gold."

"Shiny and only valuable because someone said it was?" He grinned at her when she laughed again. "You're laughing at me. I thought I wasn't funny."

"Maybe you're just having a good day," she replied.

"Or maybe I'm actually funny." They were both acutely aware of their knees touching under the table and his index finger making small circles on her shoulder. They worked on the crossword puzzle together and for a while, the rest of the world faded away. Olivia couldn't remember ever feeling so intimate with someone.

_Everyday should feel this good_, Fitz thought as he helped her solve her crossword puzzle. He could see it becoming a tradition for them. Sunday mornings on a porch swing somewhere quiet, somewhere scenic but modern. Somewhere just like Vermont. No, not somewhere like it. In Vermont. Vermont would be their place. When he was done being President, he would divorce Mellie, marry Olivia, and this would be their home. As he looked over at her, swaddled in his sweater, her hair curling loosely around her shoulders, he chose Vermont for them.

Running his knuckles up and down her shoulder, he watched her, feeling himself fall for her. When her brown eyes first met his, he had decided it would be nice, but that they would never actually be. Having a crush on Olivia was like an afternoon nap: he had promised himself only a brief slumber, but as soon as his eyes closed, he was already dreaming. He suddenly suggested, "Let's get out of here."

Olivia blinked at him. "You're insane."

"I'm serious. Let's sneak out and walk around town." Olivia studied his face for a minute. He was completely serious.

"Maybe tomorrow we can blow off earth science and smoke behind the gym too." He laughed and she felt herself softening to the idea. It would be the closest they could ever get to a date. But it wouldn't look right no matter how they spun it. She shook her head. "We can't."

"We can."

"What are we gonna say?" She glanced around. Interns were everywhere. Cyrus and Mellie were looking at photos from the rally. They'd never get out unnoticed.

"Nothing," he replied confidently. "I'm gonna leave and wait by the bus. A few minutes later, you're gonna leave and come meet me. Then we're golden."

"Wanna steal some beers and sneak into an R-rated movie while we're at it?" She smirked as he laughed.

"We could. We can do anything." His tone was light his eyes were completely serious.

She laughed, shook her head. "We can't."

"We can." She watched in disbelief as he got up and strode confidently out of the conference room. No one batted an eye. She answered a few more questions on the puzzle. She checked her watch three times, waited 10 minutes exactly before she put paper in her bag and imitated Fitz's purposeful stride out of the room. No one even looked at her. A few minutes later, she was in the parking lot, headed for the GRANT FOR THE PEOPLE campaign bus. He leaned against it, smiling devilishly. "I was starting to think you weren't coming."

"And miss all these exhaust fumes? Never," she replied. He moved closer, took hold of her hand. She looked down at his long slender fingers interlaced with her hers then up at his face. "We can't go anywhere like this, Fitz."

I know. But let's just do this for a minute," he said, frowning a little. He wished more than anything that they could do that everywhere. She leaned back against the bus, standing next to him. They stayed that way for a few minutes, fingers interlaced, his index finger tracing tingling circles on his palm. After a while, she asked, "So where to?"

"I don't really know. I've never been here before," he answered.

"And yet you were so gung ho to roam the streets." He laughed as they started walking, leaning over to gently bump her as he stuffed his hands in the pocket of his dark jeans. He had changed out of his t-shirt into a dark blue sweater not unlike the one she was wearing.

It was so peaceful, so friendly as they wandered past the front of the hotel. They passed a park full of families but Olivia didn't want to linger. Nothing good could come of looking at babies with someone who was someone else's husband. Fitz wanted to stay though. It was the most normal thing he would be able to give her for a long time: a walk in the park on a chilly Spring day. She wouldn't let him hold her hand but she didn't object when he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close enough for their hips to touch. They talked about everything and nothing but never ran out of things to say.

"So who's your college basketball team?" he asked. "Columbia or Princeton?"

"Duke," she answered, surprising him.

"Really? How's that?" She had never seen him so happy, so light.

"The coach is strong. The team tries as a unit. It's just a great program," she answered. He nodded. She asked, "So who's your team?"

"Kentucky," he answered. "I bleed blue."

It was her turn to be surprised. "Really. I always thought you were a Yale man."

"Too many cooks in that kitchen," he replied. They had unknowingly wandered into an artisan market. Fitz looked around in confusion. He asked, "Is this some kind of flea market?"

Before Olivia could reply that she had no idea where they were, a man in large black thick-framed sunglasses standing at a nearby booth selling organic cotton goods answered, "It's an artisan market. We're all from the artisan community just outside the city."

"What's an artisan community?" Olivia asked, acutely aware of Fitz's hand slipping into the back pocket of her light-wash jeans.

"We're all skilled workers: blacksmiths, farmers, clothes makers, architects, construction workers, stuff like that. We try to use our talents to create a sustainable, self-sufficient community. And every month we come into the city to sell our products," he explained. Olivia nodded. Fitz had moved a little ways away, squeezing her butt as he removed his hand from her pocket, and was examining the man's goods. He picked up a diaper, adorably tiny with a little red elephant on the butt, and showed it to Olivia.

"How cute is this?" he asked, smiling like a blind man seeing his wife's face for the first time. Olivia remembered a campaign stop in Tennessee where Fitz had held a woman's baby, a chubby little bouncing boy who had grabbed at Fitz's Republican elephant tie pin. He had looked so happy, so natural bouncing the baby that Olivia's womb had ached with emptiness.

"Don't even," she said, unable to stop a smile from spreading across her face. He laughed, shrugged as put the diaper down and stuffed his hands in his pockets. A woman in the next booth offered him organic cheese and he happily accepted. Olivia remembered that they had snuck away just before lunch. She found herself holding the diaper. It was so tiny, so preciously soft. She heard herself ask the man how much it was then pulled a five dollar bill out of her wallet and heard herself tell him to keep the change. She looked for Fitz and found him smiling softly at her. She shook her head, warding off any comments, as she put the tiny diaper in her purse. They had never even kissed but Fitz had forever in his eyes.

They walked on, and she didn't object when his fingers found hers. He led the way, telling her about the ranch in California. She could have listened to him talk forever, or just watched his mouth move. He stopped in front of a booth where a woman was making jam.

"My mom used to make jam," he said as they stepped closer. A crockpot simmered on a hot plate, its contents smelling of cherries. Though she didn't like cherries, Olivia's stomach growled. Fitz continued, "My dad loved strawberry jam and that's all he ever bought. But Mom used to make grape just for me because I hated strawberry so much."

"Well I don't have any grape handy—sold out this morning—but the cherry is just about ready and everyone seems to love it," the woman who owned the booth said.

"It smells heavenly," Fitz complimented. The women offered them warm cherry jam on warm toast and Olivia felt herself fall apart at the sight of Fitz eating the toast. He was a little curly-haired boy again, loving his mother's jam. When she felt her heart slip away, she knew she would never get it back—at least not all of it. She offered him her own piece and he insisted she have some of the jam.

"I'm not a big fan of cherries," she replied as he held out his fingertip, a glob of crimson jam on it.

He shook his head, dismissing her comment. "Just taste it. Do it for me."

She smiled as she rolled her eyes, leaning over to lick the jam off his finger. She was shocked by the intimacy of the act, the warmth that spread through her. She admitted, "I suppose it's good. Even if it didn't come off your filthy finger."

"There's nothing filthy about my hand," he replied, reaching out to poke her side. They thanked the woman and walked on, his arm around her shoulders. They had homemade gelato, and met a man who made jewelry.

"Can you make a necklace with this?" Fitz asked, producing the elephant tie pin from his pocket. The man nodded, taking it from him and going to work.

"Present for the wife?" Olivia asked, her voice even.

"It's for you actually, but if you don't like it, I suppose it can give it to Mellie. She won't wear it but I don't care what happens to it if you don't like it," he replied. She blinked at him.

"For me? Fitz—"

"It's our first date. I thought I should get you something." His smile was so gentle, so good-natured that Olivia thought she might cry. She reached out and touched his face. He kissed the heel of her hand, his eyes blazing the most beautiful blue.

"It's a little warm from the welding but it shouldn't bother you any," the man said, making them look away from each other. He had welded a little metal loop to the top of the elephant through which he had looped a silver chain. Fitz paid him, thanking him with a handshake. He gestured for Olivia to turn around. She shook her head as she did, lifting her curls off her neck.

"You know I'm not a Republican, right?" she said.

He leaned in, his lips on her ear, a chill running up her spine. "We'll just keep that between us."

They had been gone nearly two hours before their phones started ringing. Cyrus wanted to know where she was, if she'd seen Fitz. Mellie wanted to know why he'd disappeared without saying anything, what the matter was. Both gave minimal answers, acutely aware of their interlaced fingers. Fitz laughed when he hung up. Olivia frowned, shaking her head.

"We can't do this anymore," Olivia said, reluctantly taking her fingers away. Fitz took them back.

"We will," he said simply. "Every chance I get, I'm gonna do this with you. And if I lose, I'm gonna do this with you every day."

He was so serious that Olivia lose every thought she had looking at him. She was rarely one to be struck speechless, but there she was, completely mute. The fact that he took her words away spoke volumes about him and what she felt for him. She always had something to say, a way out of everything, but she couldn't formulate a single syllable at that moment. All she wanted to say was "okay," but her mouth couldn't bear the weight. She just squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

Their walk back to the hotel was quiet, their fingers only separating when they entered the hotel's back parking lot. He led her back to the spot behind the bus. They stood facing each other in silence for a moment.

"So this was fun," he said as he fingered the little elephant hanging in the valley of her collarbone.

"It was. But I don't think—" Fitz's lips interrupted whatever excuse she was proffering for why they shouldn't do it again. Olivia leaned back against the bus, afraid her legs wouldn't support her. Fitz's hands found her waist, pulling her back to him. His mouth tasted like cherry jam, hers like unspoken words.

* * *

That night, after giving the vaguest answers about where they'd been—_not together, of course_—Fitz and Olivia had retired to their respective rooms, both of them wondering what the other was doing. Olivia undressed, laying the sweater—_his_ sweater—on the bed with the utmost care. She discarded her jeans, GRANT FOR THE PEOPLE t-shirt, and lingerie in her black L.L. Bean LAUNDRY bag then got in the shower, leaning against the tile wall and wondering when she'd lost control, when he'd gotten her skin. Fitz was across the hall, listening to the shower run, ignoring Mellie as she talked over the sound of the water about why he shouldn't have slipped out earlier. He knew the exact moment she had gotten under his skin: the day they met. The first time he saw those eyes, he knew he would never be so struck by another woman. The first time he saw her smile, his fate was set. He would be with Olivia Pope if it was the last thing he ever did.

Freshly showered, Olivia came back into the bedroom and stared at the sweater on the bed. She sat next to it, running her fingers over the soft cashmere. She bundled it in her hands, brought it to her nose. It still smelled like him, even though she'd worn it longer than him. She inhaled the scent until it was ingrained in her memory. She pulled the sweater on, leaving the sleeves to fall over her hands. She didn't turn on the television as she crawled into the bed, didn't check her e-mail, or the poll numbers. Instead, she replayed the afternoon over and over until she had memorized every detail.

Fitz lay in bed, a foot of space between him and Mellie's snoring form, and wondered if Olivia was thinking about him the way he was thinking about her. He couldn't stop hearing her laugh, or feeling her soft hand on his face. He had meant it when told her he would be with her every chance he got. If he lost the election, he would be with her every day. He would learn every little thing about her, take her picture every chance he got, dance with her in the living room, sit on the kitchen counter in his underwear with her at 3AM and discuss the universe, and kiss her every time her eyes took his breath away.

Olivia lay on her side, imagining what it would be like to lay in bed with Fitz, her cynical side quietly mocking her in the back of her mind. Her phone rang and she grabbed it off the nightstand, not even looking to see who was calling. "Hello."

"Hi," he murmured.

A smile immediately came to her face. She rolled on her back. "Hi."

"I just wanted to tell you goodnight," he replied. "Goodnight, Liv."

"Goodnight, Fitz."


	4. A Little Party, A Lot of Arguing

**A/N: First, let me thank you guys for the reviews. Y'all are seriously so great! Second, this is a one shot from the Trail. I'm trying to keep the events and history consistent with the other ones in this story. Third, please enjoy and review! XOXO**

It was the perfect California day for a barbecue: sunny and 75°, with the most pleasant of breezes blowing. Surprisingly, it was Cyrus, an avid hater of socializing, who had suggested throwing a barbecue to help the Grant-Langston campaign team merger. Fitz was manning the grill, looking devastatingly handsome in a blue gingham button down shirt and red chino shorts. He looked like a J. Crew model in his Sperry top-siders and white KISS ME I'M A REPUBLICAN apron. Olivia found herself transfixed by legs, gorgeously tan and muscular. She avoided him as must as possible, attaching herself to James, who was in a tizzy about Cyrus as usual. Mellie sat on a lounge chair near the pool, smiling thinly in a red sundress sprinkled with sailboats, shielded from the sun by an enormous umbrella as she constantly refilled her glass of sangria. Sally Langston roamed about, the only one in attendance in business attire, greeting everyone with a comment about the day's blessedness.

Fitz scanned the crowd, his eyes searching for Olivia. He spotted her chatting with James, their feet in the pool. She wore a coral sleeveless blouse with a scalloped hem and impossibly tiny white eyelet shorts. Her hair waved lazily around her shoulders, pushed back off her face by her sunglasses. Fitz wondered why she hid such shapely legs in trousers all the time. He wracked his brain for something to say to her, some reason to talk to her. Cyrus appeared at his side, sipping iced tea.

"Iced tea, Cy? You on the wagon?" Fitz smirked.

"It's a Long Island iced tea," Cyrus answered with a chuckle. "Or whatever you get when you add vodka to iced tea."

Fitz laughed but stopped when his eyes drifted back to Olivia. Cyrus followed his gaze to her, and sighed. He looked at Fitz and said, "Just go over there and say something to her."

"If I knew what to say, I would," Fitz replied.

"Well, I don't know how you breeders do it, but we gays usually start with something _outrageous_, like 'Hi,'" Cyrus deadpanned. Fitz frowned as a Langston intern, a tall dark0skinned guy named Jackson sat next to Olivia, dipping his feet in the pool. She smiled as he talked to her and Fitz felt his ears go hot with jealousy. He almost stormed over and punched him when he made Olivia laugh. Cyrus cackled at watching him seethe.

"Look at you, jealous as a drunk husband," he joked, shaking his head as he smiled.

By the pool, Olivia found herself cornered. She had thought minimal answers would get rid of Jackson but he apparently wasn't very good at reading signals. James nudged her, giving an excited grin, and it occurred to her that she _could_ date Jackson—for the sake of appearances and inter-campaign camaraderie—but Fitz would understand. She could feel him watching them.

"So how'd you end up campaigning for Grant?" Jackson asked. He was handsome, tall with chocolate skin and almost too-white teeth. His eyes were almost black, but had a certain kindness to them.

"I'm actually his campaign manager," she corrected. "Cyrus, the Governor's Chief of Staff, was my litigation professor at Georgetown and he asked me to help. So here I am."

He laughed when she shrugged sweetly. "You are so cute."

Olivia gave a lopsided grin, wondering why only compliments from Fitz made her insides turn to jelly. She glanced at him, thinking he was uncomfortably handsome in his casual outfit. She wondered why he hadn't talked to her the whole day. She had grown accustomed to secret talks and furtive smiles, and his lips on hers whenever they were alone for more than thirty seconds. She suddenly remembered Jackson, and asked, "How'd you end up campaigning for Langston?"

She hoped he wasn't saying anything important. Her eyes wouldn't leave Fitz. He was talking to Cyrus, frowning a little. He looked up and their eyes connected. His eyes asked what she was doing. Hers told him she was thinking about him. He smirked and looked away. She frowned but found herself a little flattered by his jealousy.

"Oliviaaaaa…" Jackson's voice brought her back to him.

She blinked. "I'm sorry; what?"

"I asked what you like to do in your free time. I'm guessing daydream," he replied, smiling at her.

Olivia smiled thinly, wondered how long he planned to sit with her. "Well, back when I _had_ free time, I read and did crossword puzzles, went for runs, nothing particularly exciting."

She suddenly remembered doing the crossword puzzle with Fitz in Vermont. She thought of their first "date," walking hand in hand in the park. It was so normal, so magical in its ordinariness. She remembered the tiny cloth diaper she'd bought, the little red elephant on the butt, tucked away in her grandmother's old wooden hope chest. Jackson was still talking when she pulled her feet out of the water.

"Excuse me. I'm going to the ladies' room," she announced as she slipped on her brown leather flip flops. She scurried into the Grants' sprawling ranch house and leaned against the kitchen door for a minute, happy to be away from Jackson's talking and Fitz's burning eyes. She went searching for the bathroom and found herself wandering the halls.

"Lost?" She was surprised and relieved when Fitz appeared. His tone was clipped, his eyes serious.

"It's like Hogwarts; the rooms shift around when no one's looking," she joked. He only smirked. He wordlessly led her to the bathroom adjacent to his study. She was surprised to find him waiting when she emerged a few minutes later. Deciding she could play his game too, she stood before him, her arms crossed, and quipped, "Do you need something, Governor?"

She hadn't called him "Governor" since Vermont. He scoffed. "I'm 'Governor' again? That guy must be something, huh?"

She laughed incredulously. "So you're pissed because you're jealous? Imagine how your _wife_ feels!"

His whole face reddened. "Don't even, Olivia."

"'Olivia?' Ooh I must be in trouble if you're calling me that." She leveled her own testy gaze.

"Don't patronize me!" He almost yelled. She stormed to the door and slammed it with surprising force for someone her size.

"You wanna yell? Well have at it, because I can yell just as loud!" she shrieked, her eyes wide with fury.

"Excuse me if I'm upset because my—"

"Your _what_?" she interrupted. "Your girlfriend? Oh wait, you have a _wife_ so that makes me your _mistress_, Governor!

She spat the word "mistress" at him so violently that he almost flinched. His eyes bulged as he shouted, "I love you! I'm sorry that that's such a burden! I'm sorry that it makes me crazy to watch you flirt with someone else!"

"I'm sorry that it makes me crazy that you're _married_! How do you think I feel watching you with your _wife_! You're not the only one in love!" He had never seen her so livid. As angry as he was, her sexiness at the moment wasn't lost on him.

"We're not talking about me! But since you brought it up, I never throw my marriage in your face! It's for the cameras and you know it! Not one damn time have I ever made you feel like a mistress! I'm in love with you! I belong to you! And you belong to me!"

"I am _not_ yours! I am _not_ yours! You don't get to stake a claim on me!" Hot tears streamed down her red face. What she meant was, _You are not mine. You are not mine, and that scares me. If you leave, I have nothing to hold onto._

He advanced on her and pulled her into his arms. She hated herself for crying like a child who was too upset for words. She felt like she was throwing a temper tantrum. He slipped his hand under her blouse and rubbed her warm back gently, his touch firm but gentle. He murmured, "Baby, baby, baby, calm down. It's okay. It's all okay."

"It's _not_ okay!" she sobbed, clutching fistfuls of his shirt

"It's okay. It's okay," he soothed. He felt like he was trying to calm a hysterical child. Olivia felt like a hysterical child. She forced herself to stop crying. She sniffed and wiped her eyes as she looked up at him. He grinned and declared in a low, sure voice, "You're mine, and I'm yours. Okay?"

She nodded, feeling better. "Okay."

They kissed for a small eternity. He slipped his hand around to the front of her blouse, pushing her shirt up. Her skin was hot and his cooler fingers brought goose bumps to her arms. He ran his hand over the curve of her breast as his crotch pushed her into the desk. Olivia's eyes fluttered open just enough for her to catch a glimpse of the couch's crème colored silk throw pillows. She pushed him away, remembering where they were.

She breathed, "Not in your wife's house."

"This is _Grant_ estate, Liv," he corrected, smirking against her lips.

"This is your house, but she made it a home. She's everywhere," Olivia muttered. She went into the bathroom and fixed her makeup, patted her face with a cool towel to get rid of the redness. When she came back into the study, he was leaning against the desk. He held his arms open, his eyes doleful and apologetic. She walked to him and allowed him to hold her too tightly. She kissed him gently, and declared, "You are so ridiculous."

He smiled. Olivia wasn't the kind of woman to give out "I love you's" like Halloween candy. She rarely said it, if ever. No, she was the kind of woman to smile just so and call you "ridiculous." If she called you ridiculous, you were perhaps the luckiest man in the world.

"Only when it comes to you," he replied against her lips. After a few more minutes of more clandestine kisses than they had ever had time for, she convinced him that they should rejoin the party.

No one seemed to have noticed their absence. Cyrus was serving the burgers. Mellie, pink from tipsiness, was out sangria to everyone. The interns were playing touch football, Grant vs. Langston.

"Wanna watch me play?" Fitz asked, grinning at her.

"Can't. I've got study hall," she joked. He laughed, nudging her with his elbow.

Watching him play, sweat slicking his curls back, Olivia felt her face go hot. She had a few glasses of sangria, brewed much stronger than necessary by James and Mellie, to distract herself. She had never thought herself one for swooning over alpha male jocks, but she was practically salivating when he took off his button down, leaving him in a white t-shirt already clinging to his sweaty form. He tossed her his button down and she whopped playfully, raising her glass in salute. She felt like she was back in high school, a little drunk and cheering loudly for one of the "boys of fall." Fitz scored and grinned at her from the end zone, dedicating his touchdown to his favorite girl.

* * *

That night, after she got out of the shower, Olivia slipped on his gingham shirt. It was the second time she found herself sleeping in something of his. She looked at her phone and told herself she wasn't going to call him. She told herself she wasn't going to call him again as she unlocked her phone and dialed the number. She told herself a third time as she listened to the phone ring.

At the ranch house, Fitz sat in his study, thinking over his fight with Olivia. He had never been so angry at her or seen her so angry at him. He couldn't deny that he had been mildly aroused by her feistiness, or that his excitement made him feel like he was sixteen again with more hormones than brain cells. His iPhone buzzed on the desk. The screen read, "Liv" and his heart fluttered. He quickly answered.

"Hi," he said, smiling unconsciously.

"Hi," she replied, her voice soft. He imagined her makeup-less and in silky pajamas.

"What are you wearing?" She laughed and he leaned back in his chair.

"This really ugly gingham shirt some guy _threw_ at me today," she replied with a silly grin. He could picture her smirking, smiling at how he imagined she looked in his much too large shirt. "It smells like old man!"

He laughed. She fell into the sound, leaning back onto her pillow and wishing he was taking up the other side of the bed. When his laughter subsided, she softly admitted, "I'm sorry about earlier."

She wasn't one for apologies. He knew she was truly sorry if she said it. "I'm sorry too, Livvie."

"This is hard, Fitz. I never thought I would…" He smiled at her calling him Fitz.

"I know. But can I tell you a secret?"

"As long as it's not what you're wearing."

He laughed. "I'll have you know I'm in my sexiest lingerie as we speak, but that's not the secret."

"Well don't keep me in suspense," she replied with a laugh.

"I'm never going to give up on you. And I'm never going to let you give up on me. I promise, Olivia."

She was quiet for a long moment, wondering how she could have lived so long not knowing this feeling. He was the ocean and she was a little girl who loved the waves but was afraid to swim. She finally whispered, "I love you."

"I know, Livvie. I love you too, more than you know."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."


	5. The First Time

**A/N: So this is my version of their first time. I've been working on it for a while and it's smutty so if you're not into that, you should probably just stop reading. Please R and R! XOXO**

It had been two weeks since their rendezvous in Vermont. Olivia had managed to avoid being alone with him as best she could despite his numerous attempts to steal as much time as possible with her. Fitz saw her avoidance as a challenge he was more than prepared to meet. He found himself lingering anywhere she might be. He lucked up a few times and caught her alone long enough to steal the briefest of kisses.

In Seattle, she managed to secure a room far enough away from his that she almost felt at ease. She was almost able to be normal around him because she knew there would be no clandestine touching, no trembling hands, no wondering if he would finally knock on her door and they would cross that final threshold. She wondered why so little relative distance could give her such peace of mind, and came to the conclusion that it was more because she didn't trust herself than that she didn't trust him.

After a rally—surprisingly large for a Wednesday night—Olivia found herself wondering where Fitz was. She casually asked Cyrus, but he hadn't seen him. She left the hotel's dining room, pretending that she was tired and not just crestfallen that she hadn't gotten to talk to him since before the rally. She leaned against the wall of the elevator, wondering why a couple of hours without his face left her feeling so hollow. She had never thought herself one of those women who allowed a man to dictate her moods, but Fitz wasn't just a man. He was the sea and she was a little girl afraid of the waves but desperately in love with the motion of the ocean.

She walked to her room and stopped at her door, glancing at his at the end of the hall. Knowing that everyone was downstairs at dinner, she walked tentatively to his door and knocked gently. There was no answer. _Where could he be?_ she thought as she walked back to her room and went inside. She gasped at the sight before her. The room was aglow with white candles on every available surface. Red tulip petals littered the floor, looping around the square dining room table in the living room. She had only told him once in passing that tulips were her favorite flower and she couldn't believe he remembered. She walked further into the room and her breath caught when she saw Fitz, beautifully asleep, on her bed. He wore a white button down shirt and black pants, his black loafer-clad feet on the floor, suggesting that he had been sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her. She walked to him and brushed his stubborn Superman curl back from his face. He hated it. She thought it was adorable. His eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him.

"How did you get in here?" she asked, kneeling next to him.

He smiled as he sat up. She sat on the bed next to him. "I have my ways."

She shook her head, unable to stop smiling at him. "You're ridiculous."

"Well, I was thinking that walk in the park wasn't really the kind of first date that a girl like you deserves, so I decided to give you a better one. I ordered dinner, and managed to scare up a copy of my favorite movie." He grinned, apparently quite pleased with himself.

Olivia smirked. "Wouldn't it have been better to get a copy of _my_ favorite movie?"

"This date isn't all about you." He smirked. "_So_ self-centered…"

She laughed and he pulled her onto his lap. He wrapped his arm around her, relishing the feeling of having her in his arms. She cursed herself for avoiding him and missing so many opportunities to be in his arms. She looped her arms around his neck, her eyes closing when he nuzzled her neck. His lips found hers, his tongue eager and wanting. She threaded her fingers through his wispy curls on the back of his neck. His fingers found the pearl buttons on her silk blouse. She was surprised by her own restraint when she placed her hand on top of his, stopping his movements as she reluctantly pulled her mouth away from his.

"I know you haven't been on a first date in a while, but this isn't how they go." She smiled against his lips.

"I'm not hungry anymore," he replied, trailing kisses from her collarbone to the lamb-soft patch of skin below her earlobe. Her eyes closed when he caught her earlobe between his teeth.

"Fitz…" She was almost begging him to stop. Her resolve wouldn't last much longer.

He planted one more sinfully sweet kiss on the hollow of her throat and she swallowed hard. It was going to be a long night. He stood, setting her on her feet. She lost herself in his heady scent. Her fingertips brushed her lower back as he moved to pull out her chair. She blinked, snapping out of her haze, and went to sit. He reached around her to remove the silver top covering her plate. She giggled at the sight of her favorite food: extra butter popcorn. He smiled at making her laugh.

"Well it's the only thing I've ever actually seen you eat," he reasoned.

"That's fair," she replied, her smile immovable. He sat opposite her and poured her favorite wine in glasses for both of them. She sipped it and relished the taste. She couldn't remember the last time she had wine. They had all been working so hard and travelling so much that she only worked and slept, the thought of relaxing never even crossing her mind.

"So what do you think?" he asked before sipping the wine.

She shook her head, smiling at his handsome face. "You're ridiculous."

He smiled, knowing what she meant by ridiculous. "Well, I was thinking that it's going to be a long road for us, even longer if I win. So, I decided that Wednesday nights will be our night. No matter what happens, we're going to have Wednesday nights." He reached across the table and held his hands out for hers. She placed them in his and he rubbed the backs of them. "I want you to understand that you're the most important person in my life. And I don't want you to ever forget that. So every Wednesday night, we're going to be together. Phone calls, texting, Skype, sleepovers, whatever I can manage. Wednesday night is all ours. I promise."

Olivia blinked like she might cry. He was giving her his best, and she had been avoiding him. She made a vow to never neglect him or deny him again. She squeezed his hands. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Keep me, I hope," he replied.

She sniffed. "So what now?"

"Well we can watch the movie if you want. I brought my pajamas," he replied. He grinned mischievously. "Or we could do something we don't need pajamas for…"

She smiled as she shook her head. "I think you should put on your pajamas, and stop acting like a horny teenager."

He went to his suitcase and unzipped it, retrieving a pair of sweatpants. Her eyes widened when he began to unbutton his shirt. She tried to look away, but she couldn't. He took his shirt off, folding it then placing it in his suitcase, pretending he didn't feel her eyes on him. He undid his belt and pants, sliding them down his sinewy legs. She was practically salivating at the sight of his plain black boxers. She could swear he was moving at a glacial pace to torture her. He pulled on his sweatpants and finally looked at her. She quickly looked away, pretending she hadn't been fantasizing about licking his abs. With a smirk, he teased, "_Now_ who's acting like a horny teenager?"

She laughed and he fell into the sound. He could have listened to it forever. She stood and went to her suitcase, aware that he was watching her as she stepped out of her black pumps. She knelt next to the huge bag, searching desperately for pajamas that weren't silky or lacy. She didn't have any. She vetoed every nightgown. They wouldn't make it to the opening credits if she wore any of them. She finally decided on a cranberry colored silk camisole and short set. He grinned at her. "Would you like me to cover my eyes?"

She smirked. "I'm going to change in the bathroom."

She went into the bathroom and pulled her hair back. She washed her face then changed into her pajamas, wishing the v of the camisole didn't dip so low. The lace bordering the neckline was supposed to make it more demure, but it didn't do anything but. The shorts seemed too short, too tight. She emerged from the bathroom, and Fitz tried to keep his jaw from going slack when he saw her. He swallowed hard, feeling the blood leave his head in search of lower destinations. They wouldn't see the end of the movie. She climbed onto the bed and he caught a glimpse of pale pink lace peeking out between the hem of her top and the waistband of her shorts. He changed his mind. They wouldn't see the opening credits.

Her skin looked so smooth and soft. He imagined the silk felt like sandpaper compared to it. She smirked at him as he sat—seemingly dumbstruck—at the end of the bed while she settled against the pillows. She asked, "Are you going to sit down there through the whole movie?"

He moved to the head of the bed, intending to cuddle close to her, but she put she put the popcorn bowl between them. He smirked at her. She gave him an adorable smile, her nose scrunching.

"So what movie are we watching?" she asked, wishing he had put on a shirt. She thought of asking him to, but then he would know that she was ogling him.

He gave a silly grin. "_Showgirls_."

She laughed and he took the opportunity to scoot closer to her, moving the popcorn bowl. When her laughter subsided, she became acutely aware of his closeness, the scent of soap on his skin, the fine hair on his arm brushing against hers. She sat up straighter, putting a little more space between them. "What are we really watching?"

"It's a surprise," he replied as he got up to blow out the candles, leaving them in semi-darkness. She didn't protest when he climbed back into bed and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her tightly so she couldn't squirm away. His soft chest hair tickled her cheek. Her eyes widened when the title _An Affair to Remember_ flashed on the screen. It was one of her favorite movies, but she wondered what he was getting at, picking a movie like that. By the middle of the movie, he was peppering her neck with kisses. She lost chunks of time, her eyes closing at each contact of his warm lips on her neck. He climbed on top of her, feeling around the bed for the remote to turn the TV off. The room was silent except for the sound of their kisses.

His tongue slipped into her mouth, and her fingers wound into his curls. He slipped the thin straps of her top down, taking her left breast in his hand. Olivia gasped when he rolled the sensitive bud between his thumb and forefinger. A wanton, rhythmic pulsing started in her core, so strong she was sure he could feel it. He stiffened against her thigh. She cupped his face, her fingertips passing over his ears and he let out a low groan in her mouth. She took hold of his ears, delighting in finding a new hot spot. His mouth moved to her neck, biting her gently but with enough force that she knew she'd have marks the next day. He slipped his hand into her shorts, groaning at the valley of warm wetness waiting there. He rubbed her panty covered slit, making her hips rock.

Olivia cried out when his fingers entered her slick portal. She had never felt her body respond so strongly to a man. Her walls gripped him, her eyes rolling back with each movement. With every ounce of effort she could muster, she reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, knowing the ache between her legs wouldn't be satisfied with his fingers for very long. Nevertheless, her body cried out at the loss of his hands when he stopped pleasuring her to pull his pants down and kick them off. She took the opportunity to remove her top. His teeth sank into her clavicle. She mewled at the confusingly splendid mixture of pain and pleasure. Once he was free of his pants, he pulled her shorts off, smirking as he ran his fingers over the lace of her panties. She squirmed impatiently, needing more. Breathing became a whole body task when he slid her panties aside and gave her one torturously slow lick.

"Fitz…" she whined, squirming. He pulled her underwear off at an agonizingly slow pace. Olivia pulled her knees back, offering herself for whatever he wanted. His tongue connected with her overly sensitive bundle of nerves and she clutched a fistful of his hair, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she tried not to scream.

"Please…" She wasn't even sure what she was begging for.

"Please what?" he murmured against her slick folds.

"Please…please…" His teeth nipped at her love button and threw her over the edge. She splintered into a million pieces, babbling his name like she needed saving. He lapped up her essence, his member so hard it felt like it would rocket off. He stood and took off his boxers, leaving himself gloriously naked. She stared at him with hooded eyes as he climbed onto the bed. He hovered over her, fixing her with fiery eyes that made her stomach knot. He pushed her knees back to her chest and leaned down to kiss her at the exact moment that he plunged into her to the hilt. She couldn't remember ever feeling so full. Her nails made crescent-shaped impressions on his shoulder then dragged down his back in crimson streaks when he hammered her. She tried not to scream but lost track of everything when his lips clamped onto her neck. The headboard hammered the wall incessantly. His eyes were dark, boring into her with an intensity that only heightened the pleasure of the moment. He murmured her name against her neck, his fingers digging into her thighs. She wrapped her legs around him, clawing at his back as she fell apart in his arms.

She was so gone that she didn't even realize he had flipped her onto her stomach until he stuffed pillows underneath her, raising her backside to him like a sacrifice. She gasped when he delivered a few firm smacks, adrenaline rushing through him as red handprints became visible. She felt her world coming undone as he pushed into her inch by inch. When his body finally connected with hers, he smirked at the string of curses that left her mouth. Fitz's palm pressed to her lower back, preventing her trembling body from scurrying away as he pounded her. He lost track of everything in her velvety depths. His long, hard strokes brought tears to her eyes and she chewed her bottom lip, desperately trying to hold in a scream. She gripped the sheets like they were the only thing holding her to reality.

"Are you close? You seem close," he teased, his lips on her ear, the pad of his middle finger stroking her love nub. She was. She could feel the tornado swirling in the pit of her stomach.

He nipped at her earlobe, groaning, "God, you're tight…so wet…fuck, fuck, fuck."

He pulled her back repeatedly, slamming her into him. Were it not for the telltale banging of the headboard, her screams could only have meant bloody murder. Given the pounding of her heart and her difficulty breathing, Olivia could have reasoned that he was trying to kill her…if she could have formed a complete thought at the moment. All she could focus on was the heat of his hands and lips and the way he hit her spot every time he plunged into her, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

"Do you want to come baby?" His voice carried a primal arrogance that made her insides tingle.

She frantically nodded, hissing, "I…need…please…"

He smirked at taking away her words. She was right where he wanted her, poised on the precipice of oblivion. He grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her up so her back was against his chest. He paused his movements and she shuddered at the loss of the wind propelling her sails. Her legs trembled, threatening to give out. His lips against her ear, he commanded, "Say it."

He needed those three words to fall from his lips. He said it to her as often as he could, but she never said it back in person. His teeth clamped on the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder. She winced. He still didn't move. She was so close. All she needed was one more delicious thrust and she would find paradise. But saying those three words to him at a moment like this would mean something she wasn't sure she could handle. She did love him, but she didn't want to expose the depths of her feelings. If she said it, he would know the truth: that she couldn't breathe without him, couldn't think of anything except the feel of his arms and the scent of his cologne. But she was so close, wound so tight that she all wanted to do was snap. His lips were on her ear again. "Say it, Olivia."

She hesitated, poised between the heaven of an orgasm and the hell of needing it so badly that her eyes were losing focus. She was so ready, so sensitive that she could feel him pulsing inside her. He pulled at her nipples and all her will dissolved. She practically screamed, "I love you!"

Her eyes closed, her body ready. There was an exquisitely torturous moment of hesitation, his breath warm on the back of her neck, raising goose bumps everywhere. He slid out agonizingly slowly to the tip then slammed inside her in one smooth stroke that broke the levies. She trembled violently as electricity shot from her toes up her spine to the crown of her head. She froze in a beautiful silent scream for a moment before the world came crashing down. She tightened around him, uttering a string of curses littered with his name, and every spasm brought him closer to the edge. He wasn't sure what he said to her as fire raged in the pit of his stomach. His fingertips dug into her hips and he shuddered as everything went white then black with his release. She pushed the pillows aside, crumpling underneath him. He kissed her neck, her chin, her cheeks, her lips, her eyelids, everything he could reach. Her eyes struggled to stay open, her body spent. He wrapped his arms around her damp, shivering body.

"Go to sleep. I'm not leaving," he assured. "Goodnight."

She was too tired to protest him spending the night, and the strength of his arms was the only thing holding her together. She kissed him gently, like she was afraid he would disappear. "Goodnight."


End file.
